


Obsession

by SeverinadeStrango



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom - A. C. Crispin
Genre: M/M, Manipulation, Mind Games, Not Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 03:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12334572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverinadeStrango/pseuds/SeverinadeStrango
Summary: Lord Cutler Beckett is, perhaps, a little too absorbed in his work.





	Obsession

**Author's Note:**

> An entry for Day 11 of Tumblr user horrificmemes' "31 Horrific Days v2" challenge. If you enjoy my writing, more of it can be found on my own Tumblr page - the url of which is the same as my username here.

Lord Cutler Beckett was a very diligent, efficient, and _ruthless_ man in every aspect of his life – except, that is, when it came to his own mortality.

It was the middle of December and he was quite sure that he was seeing double by the time he had signed his name across the very _last_ of the documents that he could bear to look at for today, but he’d be damned if he admitted his own weakness. Every _second_ that was not spent climbing higher, they became more and _more_ right.

That wasn’t allowed to happen. 

Closing his eyes wearily, he stood, the floor shaking underneath him even as he attempted to ignore it, stepping out from behind his desk on legs that weren’t quite sure what they were doing or which way was forwards or backwards or up or anything of that sort, actually. Perhaps he really _should_ be more careful – especially during the colder seasons, when his own physically _frail_ state caught up to him (which, of course, he couldn’t _have_ happen). 

“You’ll retire _soon,_ my Lord?” 

The sudden appearance of Beckett’s menacing aide would have made any sane human being leap about twelve feet into the air – the man had practically materialized out of nothing. But it wasn’t exactly a _new_ occurrence for the clerk or for his master, this had become almost routine after so many years. Long enough for Beckett to know that this wasn’t exactly an expression of concern. 

Rather, it was a challenge.

“I’ve work to do, Mercer,” he said, in what he _thought_ was a vaguely disinterested tone. No, he wouldn’t let him see _anything._ The man had already seen far too much – and now Beckett _had_ no option but to keep him close, or he could very potentially be ruined. He wasn’t exactly sure why or how – only that that path was one to not be contemplated, not even for one split second. 

“You don’t look well, sir.” 

Beckett clenched his jaw, his back to Mercer as he scanned over the enormous lists of past transactions, past deals and negotiations because there was always _some_ trend, some point of leverage that he could use to – 

“It’d do you well to mind your health, sir.” 

This time, Beckett _did_ flinch – Mercer had, in that short period of time, appeared right _behind_ him, and he felt his back collide with his assistant’s chest when he had first instinctively moved. Good God, that man was like a phantom. Beckett did not doubt, of course, that this skill came in handy for the more _sinister_ jobs that he often delegated to Mercer, but that did not make it any less eerie, any less omnipresent, always lurking and silently threatening.

“Perhaps so,” he eventually said, his mouth dry as he busied himself by tidying up a stack of papers that could have been of any importance, he didn’t know and it didn’t matter right now. He couldn’t let Mercer know that he was set on _edge_ by his presence – because _technically_ speaking, the man was his servant. And Lords had no need to fear their servants – they were the ones holding the strings and the reins, except _this_ situation was a lot more complicated than that. It was, in fact, so convoluted that Beckett, in all the years that Mercer had been his right-hand man, had failed to even _begin_ to understand their strange bond.

As of now, however, he was caught at a crossroads of sort – he could either give into Mercer’s lurking demand and prove his own subservience in that one moment, or he could press on, weaken his own body, and then listen to the clerk’s very _existence_ taunt him when he did fall ill. Mercer wouldn’t even have to say anything – he would simply have to operate as he always had, dutifully and silently and efficiently, because neither of them needed words to know what the other was thinking, to some extent. 

_This is what happens, my Lord, when you do not obey._

How backwards it was. 

Was Cutler Beckett obsessed with revenge, with status and title and honor and prestige? Perhaps. But it was an obsession that he welcomed with open arms, in order to avoid the alternative.


End file.
